


Brave and True

by Dainslaif



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: BBC is a destroyer of souls, Gen, General fluff, Potterlock, Sherlock getting what he wants, light johnlock
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-17
Updated: 2013-11-17
Packaged: 2018-01-01 20:33:59
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 973
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1048291
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dainslaif/pseuds/Dainslaif
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A short Potterlock. Sherlock Holmes has come to Hogwarts and is about to be sorted by the Sorting Hat. Some say in Slytherin is where he best belongs, others say in Ravenclaw he will truly bloom, but Sherlock always moved to the beat of his own drum.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Brave and True

“Holmes, Sherlock!”

Behind him he could hear a few chuckles from his name and inwardly he sighs. As if he didn’t get enough smart remarks from his name, now it was just beginning to become a bother. Under his breath he sharply growls “plebeians” under his breath, his long legs taking shorter strides than normal as he comes up to the, what he was dubbing in his mind, ‘the hot seat’. Taking a seat on the stool his cold grey eyes flick up towards the professor.

Faintly he hears her say, her voice very kindly and almost dreamy, say “Good luck dear,” and she plopped the hat down on his head. At first he hears nothing. 

About to claim the Sorting Hat had gone defective somehow he hears a small voice in his ear and it makes his skin crawl; even a magical hat so close to him made him wrinkle his nose. “Well aren’t you a difficult one,” the hat says in his ear. “So much hidden potential, so much cunning, so very bright, and what’s this? The younger brother of Mycroft Holmes? He blossomed well in Slytherin house.”

Immediately the young boy scans the crowd by the Slythrin table, and there his was—his older brother, Mycroft Holmes, a seventh year with so much promise. He did indeed ‘blossom’ in Slytherin house and mummy was proud.

“I suppose,” Sherlock replies monotone in his head.

“You could blossom in Slytherin, too,” the hat says, trying to probe answers from the reserved boy, trying to find some spark within him: in truth, the younger Holmes would have succeeded no matter where he was placed, the hat knew this. Just like James Moriarty. 

“I could,” Sherlock agrees. “But I don’t want to be a Slytherin. I don’t want to be my brother.”

Finally, something. Interest piqued the hat continues to probe further. “Who do you want to be, Sherlock Holmes?”

Sherlock could feel his eyes leaving his brother, back towards the small crowd of students still gathered waiting to be sorted. Upon one face in particular he finds himself stall on and his breathing stops for a fraction of a second—John Watson. A half-blood with golden hair like a sunrise and blue-green eyes like the sea. Bringing his hands together just beneath his chin he finds himself deducing everything he could about the boy.

The hat, now moving from intrigued to amused, listens to Sherlock as he considers the boy, not at all stopping him. “Intense eyes, daring. Nerves of steel, courageous. Principled.” Bringing his hands to just over his lips, eyes still intensely focused in on John Watson, to the point where he could see that the boy was starting to nearly fight back from a distance, wondering what battle they were locked in and why but unwilling to give in. Not until he won.

Feeling he was beginning to smile at the determination, the wily recklessness of the half-blood, Sherlock is quick to crush the feeling, face remaining stoic. This John Watson was a flame and he was a moth and he would do anything to learn more

“Brave, that is what I want to be. Gryffindor,” the boy decides finally in his mind, closing his eyes. “I want to be in Gryffindor.”

The hat chuckles in his ear, wanting to test the boy before granting the boy’s wish. “In all your cunning and all your wit, your bravery is often lacking, your convictions often impartial, Hufflepuff or Ravenclaw may perhaps be a better—“

“No,” Sherlock hisses allowed, embarrassment flooding him for all of a second before be puts on a more daring and bold face. “Gryffindor,” he asserts in his mind.

If the hat could it would have smiled. “Gryffindor!”

At the announcement the hall was silent for a few seconds, the professor plucking the hat off his head with an equally confused look as the silence of the hall would suggest before Gryffindor table erupted with rowdy applause. Feeling himself beginning to blush at the unexpected reception from his new, well, housemates, he risks a look to his older brother.

The entirety of Slytherin table seemed lost in a forest. Getting up and shrugging to his brother he drifts over to the Gryffindor table, face too stony for a boy as young as he takes a seat with the rest of his house, perfectly situated to best watch John.

Watching at the other new students get sorted into their new houses, Sherlock finding himself generally uncaring of who went where, his eyes remained focused on John Watson. The other boy had watched him the entire walk to Gryffindor table, and their eyes had remained locked even as the crowd dwindled. Finally, when his named was called, the professor, Professor Hudson, had to call him twice, nearly chuckling when the shorter boy jumped and the entire hall laughed.

For a second Sherlock found himself chuckling too. When the boy near ran up to the hot seat was when their little stare war had drawn to a close. 

The hat was plopped on his head and everyone watched, waited. To Sherlock, John’s sorting seemed to take an eternity. He showed no signs of anxiety, but he could feel his heart pounding in his throat, in his ears… Where would this fascinating boy end up?

“Gryffindor!” Immediately the table settles into boisterous applause again and John seemed somehow relieved. He barely even waited for Professor Hudson to take the hat off his head before he hopped up to join his housemates.

Heart beat beginning to relax he watches as John drew closer, their eyes again locking, and he takes a seat directly beside Sherlock. Offering the boy his hand he smiles boyishly. “John Watson,” he says.

Slowly, Sherlock takes it and they shake slowly, their eyes never leaving one another. “Sherlock Holmes.”


End file.
